


Memories of the Dead

by SugarStarCuties



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarStarCuties/pseuds/SugarStarCuties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's impossible to truly forget the people you love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories of the Dead

Your name is Jade English. For the past several years you’ve been plagued by a nagging feeling. The feeling that you’re forgetting something. Even with your various reminders something doesn’t seem quite right. You have a bright red string tied to your pinky to remind you of this. At the time it sounded like a cute idea, a pinky promise to remember. Now it’s almost taunting you. 

TV was the only source of noise most days. Most of the animals on your island have learned to stay away. Not out of fear, you would never hurt them. On really quiet days you would turn on the TV to calm your nerves. The silence was unearthly. It was a news story about a comedian. At first you didn’t listen very intently, at least not until you heard his name. Where had you heard that before? It got stuck in your head, followed you down the stairs and every which place you went. 

John Crocker. It didn’t sound right. There was something wrong with it. After a few days riddling it through you wrote it down and put it aside. You added a light blue reminder to your other pinky. 

Choose a handle. Pesterchum smiled at you from the screen. You decided, gardenGnostic. Okay you had absolutely no idea what that meant but it sounded so perfect. There was no reason for you to download this program. Your only friends had stopped using chat a long time ago, they all had families by then. There was no point in this. Why did you feel anxious? You were waiting. Waiting for someone to come online, to talk to you, but there was nobody to be waiting for. 

When did it start sounding so foreign? Jade English. Even saying it out loud you don’t recognize it. You don’t own it, it doesn’t belong to you. How can you reject your own name? Jade, it rolls off your tongue well enough. English, no, it gets stuck to your gums and refuses to leave. It’s not the same. You add a green string to your left index finger. 

On a whim you open Pesterchum again. You haven’t touched it in years. But it called out to you, and you were willing to admit defeat. A pop-up appears, type in your friends handle, add them to your chums. You oblige. ghostyTrickster. We’re sorry there is no user with this handle. ectoBiologist. There is no user with this handle. adiosToreador. No user. carcinoGeneticist. We’re sorry. turntechGodhead. Sorry. 

He’s adorable, you love him. His name is Jake English and he is your “grandson”. He looks a lot like you, but there’s something else too. The boyish charm, those square glasses, his hair, it reminded you of somebody. You don’t know who. Sometimes when you were outside tending to the pumpkins he would wander around chasing the animals. The fairy bulls are his favorite. They would dip low enough for him to reach before flying up to tempt him further. He was a sucker for their games. 

You were working on the pumpkins when he tapped your shoulder. He’d caught one of the fairy bulls in a cage. The poor thing was terrified. Jake was ecstatic, proud of himself in all possible ways. Unfortunately the animal was gazing at you with a deer in the headlights look. It didn’t know what to do. You took the cage and glanced back at the smiling boy. It would be a shame to make him feel bad but you just have to let the animal go. You promise to mount it, as is tradition, and he runs inside full of joy. You let the creature go instead and sew him one. He never notices. But it strikes you a bit oddly. You seem to remember hearing of something so similar. Jake asked you to name it, Tinkerbull popped into your head, what sort of name is that? 

His face appears on TV one day. It’s the comedian you remember from years ago. John Crocker. Except this news story was different. He had died. Then it feels so strange. His face reminds you of something. You want to call out to him, tell him that it’s you, but you don’t know him. His name is John Egbert you remember. He was one of your best friends. This is stupid, you never knew him, but why can’t you stop crying? He’s dead and you feel terrible, like you’ve lost something. You tear off the blue string from your finger. 

It isn’t until months later that you remember. Karkat Vantas, Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider, Tavros Nitram, John Egbert. You take the red string off too. Dave is dead. It doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t have to see it on the news to know they’re gone. You don’t want to think about them. They’re dead. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to play the game, scratch the record, break the game, get out alive. 

You have a grandson named Jake English, he was your grandfather. You had a dog named Bec. You played a game with your best friends, your ecto brother, and twelve trolls. You were the witch of space. You were very happy. You have no reminders left on your fingers, not even the green one. Your body lies alone among the blood of the ones you loved. Your name is Jade Harley.


End file.
